Post by wordy on Dec 2, 2009 10:38:07 GMT 10
Title: Midwinter
Rating (and Warnings): G
Prompt: #1 Winter
Summary: Zahir's musings on winter in Tortall.
Notes: For Lisa and Isha ;D
By late afternoon, Zahir found himself on the curtain wall, overlooking the city. The sight was beautiful; a field of twinkling lights that stretched out to the Oloron River and continued on the other side, eventually dwindling into darkness. The only thing that marred the view, Zahir thought sourly, was the snow.
He had returned from the border only a few days earlier, just in time for the beginning of the week long Midwinter Festival and the first falling of soft, white snow. A day later, the palace grounds were carpeted with the stuff, making it difficult to walk from the practise courts to the stables, and everywhere inbetween. He had given up going to visit his horse, trusting the stablehands to feed and look after him, at least until the snowfall - which seemingly had no end - had died down. So Zahir had resigned himself to the indoor practise courts, and to studying in the library. No longer a page, he had no reason to study, but without his daily visits to the library he was sure to sink into a sloth-like state. Besides, it would not hurt for him to review some of the history of Tusaine and Scanra; the information on past skirmishes, wars, and political discrepancies would surely prove useful in the future.
This afternoon, however, the snowfall had slowly drawn to a halt. It had been the perfect opportunity to take in some fresh air, and the curtain wall - which he remembered running during his first year - seemed the perfect location to do so.
Suddenly, a sound caught his ear, breaking the peaceful silence; turning, he saw that another figure had just gained the top step to the wall, panting shallowly from the climb. For a moment, he wondered if he should take the opportunity to leave; he had not come up here anticipating conversation with anyone. But when the figure raised his head, glossy brown hair framing a lightly freckled face, Zahir's shoulders loosened - he had become tense at the sight of another person - and he looked back out across the city. Mindelan.
She took her time crossing the wall to where he was standing; obviously, she had not expected anyone else to be up here, and she seemed unsure whether to disturb him or not. By the time she reached his side, she seemed resigned to making a little conversation, at least. She seemed to have resolved her problem with heights, he noted with interest, or she was hiding it well, at least. Zahir nodded to her in greeting, eyes never leaving the magnificent view before them.
Since they had received their knighthoods, he had been required to work with her a few times - sometimes under her command - and the two of them had reached some kind of mutual, unspoken agreement of how they were to behave. He would not go so far as to say they were friends, but they were friendly. He had long since resolved his issues with females becoming knights, though it had been a difficult struggle for him. But Mindelan had proven herself again and again, both at New Hope and now with the Own, which made it harder to create an argument against her. Looking sidelong at the Lady Knight, he saw that she was warming her gloved hands, breathing out frozen air from between chattering teeth. And he had thought he was unused to the cold.
"Are you attending the banquet tonight?" she asked suddenly. Zahir withheld a sigh: it seemed she wanted to talk after all.
"I suppose," he answered.
She looked at him curiously. "You don't enjoy the Midwinter celebrations?"
"Not particularly."
They drifted into silence once more. He felt uncomfortable now; it was not as if he was trying to be deliberately short with her.
"Midwinter does not really appeal to me at all," he began slowly, "The short time I spent in the desert during my formative years, there were only two seasons: the dry season, and the even drier season." That brought a laugh from her, making him smile too. It was unusual, thinking about his childhood in such a light way; memories of growing up in the desert, thinking the Bazhir were some kind of pariah compared to the rest of Tortall, were often unpleasant for him.
"It's mostly the snow," he finished.
She looked a little shocked at that, though she was still smiling. "The snow? I know it makes things difficult and is a bit of a nuisance, but don't you think it's...pretty?" She blushed a bit at that, probably thinking it a girly thing to say.
Looking out across the city, covered in a blanket of white, Zahir tried to look at it with fresh eyes. Pretty? he thought scepticlly. "It just seems to make everything colder. And wetter," he added. She shook her head, a small smile touching her lips as she looked at the view spread out before them. "Midwinter is a wonderful time of year, snow or not. Giving presents to your friends and family, the parties, the food - it's nice to enjoy it for a change, instead of serving it," she said. He laughed.
"Well," he said, "I suppose I could get used to it."
"That's the spirit," she replied, smiling.
They watched in silence as far out above the city, a sheet of soft white flakes drifted slowly down, the picture of a sleepy town transformed into a winter wonderland. Maybe he could get used to this.
Rating (and Warnings): G
Prompt: #1 Winter
Summary: Zahir's musings on winter in Tortall.
Notes: For Lisa and Isha ;D
By late afternoon, Zahir found himself on the curtain wall, overlooking the city. The sight was beautiful; a field of twinkling lights that stretched out to the Oloron River and continued on the other side, eventually dwindling into darkness. The only thing that marred the view, Zahir thought sourly, was the snow.
He had returned from the border only a few days earlier, just in time for the beginning of the week long Midwinter Festival and the first falling of soft, white snow. A day later, the palace grounds were carpeted with the stuff, making it difficult to walk from the practise courts to the stables, and everywhere inbetween. He had given up going to visit his horse, trusting the stablehands to feed and look after him, at least until the snowfall - which seemingly had no end - had died down. So Zahir had resigned himself to the indoor practise courts, and to studying in the library. No longer a page, he had no reason to study, but without his daily visits to the library he was sure to sink into a sloth-like state. Besides, it would not hurt for him to review some of the history of Tusaine and Scanra; the information on past skirmishes, wars, and political discrepancies would surely prove useful in the future.
This afternoon, however, the snowfall had slowly drawn to a halt. It had been the perfect opportunity to take in some fresh air, and the curtain wall - which he remembered running during his first year - seemed the perfect location to do so.
Suddenly, a sound caught his ear, breaking the peaceful silence; turning, he saw that another figure had just gained the top step to the wall, panting shallowly from the climb. For a moment, he wondered if he should take the opportunity to leave; he had not come up here anticipating conversation with anyone. But when the figure raised his head, glossy brown hair framing a lightly freckled face, Zahir's shoulders loosened - he had become tense at the sight of another person - and he looked back out across the city. Mindelan.
She took her time crossing the wall to where he was standing; obviously, she had not expected anyone else to be up here, and she seemed unsure whether to disturb him or not. By the time she reached his side, she seemed resigned to making a little conversation, at least. She seemed to have resolved her problem with heights, he noted with interest, or she was hiding it well, at least. Zahir nodded to her in greeting, eyes never leaving the magnificent view before them.
Since they had received their knighthoods, he had been required to work with her a few times - sometimes under her command - and the two of them had reached some kind of mutual, unspoken agreement of how they were to behave. He would not go so far as to say they were friends, but they were friendly. He had long since resolved his issues with females becoming knights, though it had been a difficult struggle for him. But Mindelan had proven herself again and again, both at New Hope and now with the Own, which made it harder to create an argument against her. Looking sidelong at the Lady Knight, he saw that she was warming her gloved hands, breathing out frozen air from between chattering teeth. And he had thought he was unused to the cold.
"Are you attending the banquet tonight?" she asked suddenly. Zahir withheld a sigh: it seemed she wanted to talk after all.
"I suppose," he answered.
She looked at him curiously. "You don't enjoy the Midwinter celebrations?"
"Not particularly."
They drifted into silence once more. He felt uncomfortable now; it was not as if he was trying to be deliberately short with her.
"Midwinter does not really appeal to me at all," he began slowly, "The short time I spent in the desert during my formative years, there were only two seasons: the dry season, and the even drier season." That brought a laugh from her, making him smile too. It was unusual, thinking about his childhood in such a light way; memories of growing up in the desert, thinking the Bazhir were some kind of pariah compared to the rest of Tortall, were often unpleasant for him.
"It's mostly the snow," he finished.
She looked a little shocked at that, though she was still smiling. "The snow? I know it makes things difficult and is a bit of a nuisance, but don't you think it's...pretty?" She blushed a bit at that, probably thinking it a girly thing to say.
Looking out across the city, covered in a blanket of white, Zahir tried to look at it with fresh eyes. Pretty? he thought scepticlly. "It just seems to make everything colder. And wetter," he added. She shook her head, a small smile touching her lips as she looked at the view spread out before them. "Midwinter is a wonderful time of year, snow or not. Giving presents to your friends and family, the parties, the food - it's nice to enjoy it for a change, instead of serving it," she said. He laughed.
"Well," he said, "I suppose I could get used to it."
"That's the spirit," she replied, smiling.
They watched in silence as far out above the city, a sheet of soft white flakes drifted slowly down, the picture of a sleepy town transformed into a winter wonderland. Maybe he could get used to this.